Lena
by annemarieknight
Summary: Why is James the way he is? What could drive someone to madness of that extent? Here, we discover his true history, his past, his haunts. Lena. My first one-shot. Please review!


He ran through the forest in the impenetrable darkness, swift, sleek, invisible. He was the King of the Forest, the King of the World, this he knew in his half-blinded state. His eyes were as alert as ever, working perfectly, better than any human's would in the thick night, but he was blinded by hate, by rage. These were familiar feelings to him, unavoidable as he hunted. And it was even worse when he was tracking. This was not a tracking mission, he was simply hungry, and headed for a town where he knew they liked to run, and that's what made it fun. He liked to hear them scream, hear their desperate footsteps, allow them to get further away, think they could possibly escape. It almost made him laugh to think of the looks on their faces when they were so sure they'd evaded him, God had had mercy on them, they got a second chance…and then, he would slip out of the shadows and upon them like a great cat in a jungle somewhere far away, and their eyes would widen, and they would scream again. Then, he devoured them, hoping that their last coherent thought was that there was no God, and he had shown them that truth. In some twisted way, he was only the messenger.

His footsteps slowed, now he had come to it again. He was allowing himself to fall back into thoughts of his past, the reason he did these things to people. The reasons he justified it. At last, he came to a complete halt in the forest as the memories began to flood in on him. He put his hand on a tree, his fingers digging into the bark, and then more inner portion of the trunk as he closed his eyes. But it was too late; he could not close his eyes to this, pictures flashed behind his eyelids, taunting him, reminding him. It didn't take long for him to abandon his tense stance by the tree and kneel to his knees instead, grasping his head and his dirty blonde hair in his hands desperately, wishing he could rip the images right out of his brain and leave them behind in the forest, what he'd been trying to do all these years, but he couldn't. That would be too easy, he reminded himself, and he looked up at the sky above, the stars and moon, and let out a terrible roar. God didn't want anything to be easy for him, He never had, and He never would. He panted again, and decided it was easier to just get it over with, and the tears came with the memories now, and his story began all over again.

These were the only times James felt guilty.

San Francisco, 1856

"James!"

I heard her voice over my shoulder as though it were an angel's. She ran toward me in the black and white dress I'd bought her last Christmas, the skirts flying out behind her, covered in mud from the streets of the town we lived in. It had just been named San Francisco, but it seemed too unfamiliar a word to speak out loud just yet, so it remained nameless, in my mind, at least. Her hair was coming out of its twisted knot at the nape of her neck, also flying behind her. Somehow, she was still beautiful. It amazed me, and she had told me many times that I always had a look of fascination on my face when she saw me, and though I claimed it was because I was bewitched by her beauty, she said there had to be another reason, yet I continued trying to convince her as often as possible.

I crossed the busy street that lay between us and took her in my arms, lifting her feet off the ground a bit and moving back and forth as I closed my eyes and took in her scent. "What are you doing here?" I asked her, though I hardly knew times where I was gladder than when I was holding her in my arms as an unexpected surprise, or blessing.

"I came to see you. The house was getting stuffy and I needed a walk. My feet led me here." She pulled away and smiled up at me, then kissed my lips gently, but not for long. It was not appropriate to show affection in public, even for a married couple.

I put my arm around her and began walking back toward the hotel where I worked. It was not a high-paying job, but it was enough that I had saved until now, and could afford to buy Lena and myself a pleasant house on Larkin Street, just down from the site yet another hotel was being built. San Francisco had grown into a rollicking city in the last few years, nothing much was the same as it had been when Lena and I had arrived, but we found the city to be to our taste, and enjoyed living here.

"I wish you'd decided the house was stuffy before I finished my lunch…" I said. She had only just missed my break, and I was unhappy to have to return to work.

"I know." She said. "But I wasn't sure exactly when you got to eat."

"It's all right." I said, smiling and kissing her temple.

"The carpets arrived today." She said to me happily. "And the beds. We don't have to sleep on the floor anymore."

I smiled happily. "That's a relief."

"Yes, I know. I was beginning to think we would feel like we were fifty years old with our backs if we didn't get them soon…"

"I wouldn't care if you were fifty." I said, laughing a bit.

"Well, I would care if you were." She answered, and I looked down at her in confusion. She smiled mischievously. "I'm not sure if I could stand you being all wrinkly."

I narrowed my eyes at her and touched her sides, the only places she was ticklish. "You're a devil, Lena."

She laughed while also trying to give me a reproving look for tickling her right on the street. I took my hands away and looked up behind her; we'd stopped in front of my hotel. "I have to go now."

She looked sad, but smiled anyway. She'd always been like that, strong in ways I could not understand. "All right. I love you."

"I love you too." I kissed her again. "I'll be home at 4:30."

"Dinner will be ready." She smiled again, and then pushed me gently toward the stairs. "Go or you'll be in trouble with Mathis again."

"Ah Mathis…" I said. He was the manager, and I'd been reprimanded by him on many occasions, both for being late and for kissing on the sidewalk. As though it were any of his business…

I turned back and she was waving at me as she walked away, her drawstring purse swinging gently at her side. She'd tucked the hair back into her bun, but I suddenly wished it were there to match her muddy hems and lively eyes. At times, I didn't know why God had decided to bless me so. I said a prayer on the stairs, and then went into the hotel.

James bent low in the forest as the picture of his wife walking away from him that day flashed through his mind over and over and over…it was too much, too torturous to remember…tears stung his eyes.

James closed the door to their home behind him. He could hear Lena in the kitchen to his left, but he looked to his right first. Indeed, the carpets were rolled up against the wall, ready to be laid out. He would have been fine without any carpets, but Lena had wanted it. He looked through the sitting room and into their bedroom, and he smiled when he saw the bed there, already made up with their sheets and quilts and pillows. He turned to his left and came into the kitchen quietly, walking up behind her slowly. She was at the stove, stirring something or other. He approached until he could reach her, then reached out and wrapped his arms around her slowly. She was not surprised, she never was.

"How do you always know I'm coming?" He asked softly, speaking into her neck with his eyes closed before placing a kiss there.

"I would know you were near me no matter what." She answered. She had stopped stirring and put her hands over his on her waist. "I'm closer to you than anyone else."

He smiled and kissed her again. "You know, I'm not very hungry tonight, why don't we just skip dinner?"

She laughed a bit, brushing it off, but he took pleasure in the fact that he had gotten to her. "How about not? I'm hungry."

He sighed dejectedly, backing away from her, and he didn't have to see her face to know there was a sly smile there.

Three hours later, they were in bed. She was lying close to him, his arms wrapped around her protectively. She was almost asleep, her breathing deep and even. He stroked her hair gently with one hand, smiling in the darkness as he looked at her in his arms.

"I love you, James." She said. She always managed to surprise him, just when he thought she had to be asleep, she spoke.

"I love you, Lena." He said back to her, pressing his lip to her hair and closing his eyes. He wanted to stay awake and look at her all night, watch her sleep, watch her breathe, know she was safe, but he fell into a deep slumber himself, never realizing what he was doomed to see when he woke up.

Now came rage, James gritted his teeth and stood again, wanting to rip and tear and destroy everything in sight, but he heaved for air instead, clenching his fists to the point that he would have been bleeding if he could. That night, everything had changed.

James awoke abruptly, his arms still around his wife, but he was sure he had heard something, so he slipped them away from her gently. She didn't move, only continued to sleep. He listened for her breathing, just to make sure, it was there. He slipped out of bed quietly, dressing again without a sound in the pants he'd worn that day, leaving his shirt off. He walked toward the door, then opened it and stepped out into the sitting room, his eyes scanning every corner, ever shadow. For the second time that day, he prayed again, that he had been hearing things, that nothing was here. And he prayed for God to keep him and Lena safe. Especially her…

He stood for a long time at the doorway, listening to nothing, no sounds came. He was wide awake, no longer tired, why was he so sure something was amiss? His hand was still gripping the doorknob to their bedroom tightly as he looked. Twenty minutes later, still nothing. At last, he relaxed, backed down, went to make his way back to bed. He'd been hearing things. Nothing was wrong; he turned his back on the room behind him.

And then, he was thrown to the ground in a brutal attack, and immediately felt teeth on the back side of his shoulder. Teeth?! What would be biting him? Every muscle in his body tensed, he ground his teeth together and tried to struggle, but not for long. His strength was invariably leaving him, too fast to even register in his mind; he only felt lethargic weakness…and fire. Fire began spreading through his body from his shoulder, and he longed to yell, but this pain seemed to be beyond that, he had never wished to be dead before, but now he did.

And suddenly, he was not being bitten anymore, and he felt whatever was holding him let go. It stepped away, and James looked up from the floor as the fire continued to spread through his body. He was vaguely surprised to see that it was a man before him, and not some terrible beast or monster that was beyond comprehension. Or maybe he was…

His face was long and narrow, with a jutting forehead that had the look of age on it, even though the man appeared to be relatively young. His hair was shaggy and black, his clothes torn in several places, and his fists were clenched. And on one forearm, visible somehow even in the darkness, a sparkling scar that shimmered even in the darkness. Teeth marks. All this, James saw from the side, for the strange man was not looking at him…but at Lena.

"Don't…touch…her!" He managed to get out. It took much more concentration than usual to speak with the pain that now seemed to have come to his head as well as everywhere else. "Don't…touch…her!"

The visitor ignored him, and walked toward the bed slowly, deliberately, and James saw Lena begin to stir. She was waking up. "Leave…her….alone!" He said desperately. "Please, God, I beg of you!"

But he did not listen, and James reached out with his hand, bellowing in rage. He was too weak to move, too weak to save his own wife. She was awake now, and their eyes met for a second before she was blocked from his view by that monster. She screamed. James cried out her name, and then his being was eclipsed by pain he had not known he could feel and live through, and that continued for what felt like forever.

"Lena…Lena…"

'Why?!' He raged in his mind there in the woods. 'Why, God?!' Had he not prayed then and there, asked Him to keep her safe? And now she was dead. God did not care. Not about them. Not about anyone. "WHY?!"

He woke up three days later, as though from a distant dream of a nightmare. He felt strong and alive, whereas for the last three-and-a-half days, he had been sure that he was dying. Positive. Only waiting to see God's face. And now, he was back where he had been when it had happened, and he remembered clearly. He turned over, on his feet swiftly, moving faster than mortally possible. He looked at their bed, the quilt lay over a distinct figure beneath them, and there was blood…

Cautiously, now moving slowly, he came toward it, sort of in a crouched position that had not been familiar to him before now.

He kneeled next to the bed, reaching out a hand and touching the quilt. He could not bring himself to do it, he would not look. He hung his head, breathing hard, although it seemed like he didn't have to anymore, and he put his other hand over his eyes. Tears were threatening to fall, and he felt a thick lump in his throat. He sat there for ages, praying, begging God to somehow have let her survive, maybe she had gotten away, maybe it would be the monster's body under the covers. His blood on the sheets. But even then, his faith in God was somewhat hindered, and he doubted that his wish would be granted.

He pulled the quilt back.

Her eyes were still open, and her body was unnaturally pale, her face frozen in an expression of fear that had never graced her features before. She lay flat on the bed, her arms spread-eagled around her, her fingers clenching the sheets, even in death. It was obvious she had died in pain…and afraid. Her wedding ring and engagement ring had drops of blood on them, her blood, and the shiny scar that James somehow knew was on his shoulder was duplicated in many places all over her neck, her arms, her hands…her legs…

His breathing had stopped, and he backed away, all the way to the other corner, where the light of twilight was penetrating the glass of the window where they had not had a chance to hang curtains. They had not had a chance to do so much…

He slid down the wall, covering his face with his hands in agony, but he did not stay there long. He bellowed her name too many times to count before walking back over to the bed and laying down beside her, pulling her to him. She was stiff, and cold, and all wrong…but he held her, sobbing into her hair and closing her eyes after he'd looked his last at their radiant blue.

It took all he had to leave her there, alone and unnatural, unburied with no prayers to follow her to Heaven. If there was a Heaven…could there be a Heaven if there was no God? Whatever had happened to her, he hoped she'd gone somewhere better than here…

Never had he felt such pain as when he turned back to her, the last time he saw her. He wondered who would find her, and who would wonder where he'd gone, wonder if he had been the one that killed her. But he knew different. He knew who had…and he would kill him in return. If it was the last thing he did.

And as he closed the door on her lifeless form, still in the bed where they'd slept together on their last night alive, something in James snapped, something changed. And he'd wondered countless times since then if he hadn't gone a little insane, then and there. And if he wasn't still insane, some part of him. But insane people didn't know they were insane, he knew what he was doing.

The part that killed him most was that Lena would not approve of his life now, but she was dead. And he had work to do.

It took him two years to find the man who had killed his wife, and him in many ways. By then, he knew what he was, he'd heard rumors, met others like himself, and he knew how to kill his kind.

It was not quick, it was not painless, and it was not pointless. And that man knew who James was, he was sure of that.

After that night, though, it seemed that every face he saw was the face of that man. And he killed them too, and if he couldn't just kill them straight out, he followed them until he found them, sadistic and delusional and determined. He became quite good at it, following scents and trails and making games out of his hunts. It was quite satisfying, he convinced himself. It made him forget, it made him feel something besides pain and longing that would never be satisfied. He wanted to fight. He wanted someone to hate him, to kill him. So he could be with her…wherever she'd gone.

Each face, in the beginning, he'd said "It could be his sister, his father, his aunt, his mother…" and later, "His grandson, his granddaughter, his niece, his great nephew." And down through the years. But no face ever satisfied him, no death gave him peace.

And now, he wasn't even sure if he thought of it that way anymore, his life was to kill. He lived for it. It was all he could bring himself to think of. And so, he'd come full circle, back to himself, the monster, the demon, the hunter, the tracker.

He lifted his head, breathing in the night air again, himself fully in his thirst for blood, for pain and death and screaming. The hunt. He left behind that tree, that spot where he'd relived his life for himself, felt guilty for the first time in thirty years, he couldn't even remember where he'd been the last time this happened. He moved on so quickly, to another face, another person, another victim, leaving Lena behind him again until the next time her spirit called upon him to be remembered, to try to change him.

Or maybe it _was_ God. He was never sure what he believed anymore.

The next person who came to that place stopped and shivered, and looked at the tree.

_Lena_ was carved in the bark all over the trunk, up above heights that normal people could not reach without a ladder, on he branches and beneath the leaves. Every place the eye could reach, and every place it couldn't, she was there.


End file.
